Someday, my grandchildren — or even the random grandchildren of other people — will ask me how I survived the big Interstate 85 traffic jam of ‘17, and I have to have my story ready.

Like all folks of a certain age, I’ll embellish it a little. The four hours I spent stalled in traffic will become four days. The summer weather will become a winter setting with sub zero temperatures, forcing me to chop down a nearby pine tree with my pocket knife to burn for heat.

You know, the embellishments all grandparents give to stories.

But if I’m being truthful, I’ll tell them that July 21, 2017 began the same way lots of Fridays have begun. After a morning meeting and a quick trip through a McDonalds drive-thru for an Egg McMuffin, I began my daily trek southward on I-85, which has been in some phase of road construction since Adam and Eve were in high school.

With traffic flowing freely, I mentally charted the course of my busy day, which I estimated wouldn’t end before seven in the evening.

A little over a mile before the Kannapolis exit, traffic began to slow, then suddenly stop. I was used to small delays. I had even made my peace with them. They were a fact of life.

Something about this delay seemed different though. We didn’t move. At all. Not one inch.

Ten minutes passed, then another ten minutes. Great, I thought. I’m behind before I even get started. A 7 p.m. exit from work started to look more and more like 8 p.m.

I later learned that a large truck carrying huge slabs of concrete had overturned a little over a mile in front of me and the accident had closed all southbound lanes. No one was hurt, but those of us stuck in “No Man’s Land,” as I like to call the five-mile stretch between China Grove and Kannapolis, were going to be here a while.

My mood soured, but I tried to make the best of it.  I read and answered a few e-mails, cranked up the air and radio, posted my situation on Facebook and waited.

I began to suspect this event would turn into a major delay when I spotted T.V. station helicopters overhead. My fellow travelers and I were being observed and photographed from above like we were a rare animal species migrating south for the winter.

I began to wonder why you’re never stranded on the highway beside an ice cream truck.  At least that way, we’d enjoy the delay. Nope. The truck beside me was of the pest control variety. At least I’d be in good shape if life decided to add a plague of locusts to this drama, I thought.

I remembered I had a case of bottled water in the back of my Kia that I had been too lazy to remove after a trip to the grocery store.  By now, I was two hours into this adventure and decided some of my fellow detainees might be getting thirsty.

I roamed around to a few nearby cars offering water and found surprisingly few takers. Everyone seemed just fine. I struck up a conversation with two older ladies from Maryland headed to Georgia for vacation.

“Would you care for  some bottled water?” I asked.

“No, I’d like a helicopter ride out of here,” the driver replied. I learned of their destination and thought I’d be cute.

“Why are you going to Georgia?”, I asked.  “What could they possibly have that we don’t have?  Why, look at this view. We have some of the most scenic road construction of any state in the union.”

They weren’t amused. They were hot and tired. We were all hot and tired.

Exactly four hours and five minutes after coming to a stop, we finally began to move. With a sense of newfound freedom and most of my work day gone, I made my way to the office where I remained until 11 p.m.  And this was Friday, the day we’re supposed to sneak out of the office early.

Life’s inconveniences bring out both the best and worst in all of us.  But there’s no avoiding or escaping them. They just happen.

Forgive me though if I dream of that day — that grand and glorious day — when Interstate 85 is a completed work of art.

That’s a day my great grandchildren will celebrate — I’m sure.

Kent Bernhardt lives in Salisbury.